


Promises: Kept and Made

by Mei (Mei_Hitokiri)



Series: Awkwardly in Love [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mei_Hitokiri/pseuds/Mei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another late festive story; Mycroft showing just how much power he can wield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises: Kept and Made

**Author's Note:**

> Another late one, I'm afraid. It's really quite fluffy, and I'm still not sure whether there'll be some more between the last few and this one. Probably.
> 
> Any comments are very much appreciated; especially considering the title. It's still a working title, and subject to change, but I can't think of one...
> 
> ~Mei

**Promises: Kept, Made**

“So what was the other present you were on about?” Greg was curled lazily on his side, his head resting on Mycroft’s shoulder and fingers trailing through the soft ginger hair on his chest. Mycroft rolled his head and smiled lazily at Greg; a satiated grin lighting up his face.

“Hmm?” His voice was deep, rumbling through the tips of Greg’s fingers where they were pressed against Mycroft’s chest.

“On Christmas Day, you said there was something else.” Greg kissed the side of Mycroft’s neck tenderly. Mycroft hummed softly.

“I did, didn’t I.” Mycroft rolled to wrap his arms around Greg. “It’s for tonight. The fireworks.” Greg raised an eyebrow in question.

“You mean the New Year’s fireworks at Westminster?” Greg leaned up on one hand to peer down at Mycroft. The movement was strangely reminiscent of a day who’d been waiting for its master and had finally heard the door.

“Those exact same ones.” Mycroft huffed as he sat up in bed; as if expending so much effort was utterly abhorrent. “I hated the fact that we missed New Year together last year. The first together is always magical, but work ensured that we couldn’t have it. I wanted to make up for that.” Greg wriggled and laid his head across Mycroft’s lap; rolling onto his back to stare up.

“My, we were both working. You needn’t feel bad for it.” He rolled his head to kiss the inside of Mycroft’s bare thigh. “Not that I’m complaining.” Mycroft chuckled and carded his fingers through Greg’s already dishevelled hair.

“I should hope not. You wouldn’t believe the amount of strings I had to pull to get this organised.” Greg chuckled.

“Had to call in a favour from the Queen herself?” He teased. Mycroft pursed his lips, thinking.

“Not quite Her Majesty, but close.” Greg laughed.

“That really doesn’t surprise me.” Greg sighed. “So what is it? What are we doing tonight?” Mycroft grinned down at his lover.

“Oh, I’m not telling you that. We’ll just need to wrap up warm and be ready to go at eleven.” Greg kissed Mycroft’s stomach.

“We’ll never get good views if we go that late.” Mycroft merely grinned in his usual enigmatic manner.

“The fireworks are in the sky, love. I can guarantee that we’ll get good views.”

 

Greg nearly fell flat on his face as he tried to tug on his thermal trousers. Mycroft sat on the bed, dressing rather more elegantly.

“Christ almighty. I see why they call them skins.” Greg tripped over his own feet and toppled backwards onto his bum as the thermals gave and slid on.

“I think you should join me on my diet. Your clothing does seem to have grown a little more snug as of late.” Greg looked horrified.

“Mr Holmes! Are you calling me fat?” Mycroft tied the laces on his assault boots, then bent to kiss Greg’s forehead.

“Yes.” He smiled as he walked out the door, leaving a shocked Greg in his wake. The DI scrambled to dress; thick socks, jeans, t-shirt, fleece and hoodie all going on. He jumped down the stairs and skidded to a halt next to Mycroft.

“I’m not fat!” Greg pouted as he tugged on walking boots. Mycroft openly stared at his arse.

“It’s only natural to gain a little weight as you get older.” Greg stuck his tongue out, taking his coat off the hook. They bother wrapped up in hats, scarves and gloves, then buttoned up their coats.

 

A car was waiting outside for them, steam billowing from the exhaust as the engine idled. Mycroft held the door open for Greg, and then slid into the car next to him.

“I’m going back to the gym after New Year. Need to make sure I can pass fitness and keep up with Sherlock.” Mycroft sighed.

“Gregory, don’t be ridiculous. It was a passing, teasing comment.” Greg frowned.

“I was going to do it anyway. I know you were joking.” Mycroft pulled him into his arms.

“Stop pouting. You look far too much like Sherlock, and I have no desire to do what I intend to do to you to my brother.” Greg chuckled and laced his fingers with Mycroft’s as best he could with thick gloves on.

“This isn’t some sort of kink for having sex in public, is it?” Greg raised an eyebrow in genuine concern. “Because whilst I appreciate the sentiment, couldn’t we indulge it some other time… preferably when the temperature is 15°C or higher?” Mycroft chuckled darkly against Greg’s ear.

“No, it’s not. Although, now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll admit it sounds like an intriguing notion.” Greg rolled his eyes and sighed playfully. “Besides, it’s for too much effort to get trussed up like this only to have to strip you less than an hour later.”

“Dear God, you’re unbelievable.” Mycroft kissed his cheek in a way that said ‘Hardly, or you’d have left by now.’ How he could manage to say quite so much with one kiss, Greg still didn’t understand.

 

The car pulled to a stop twenty minutes later, and an unknown man in a nondescript suit opened the door. Greg climbed out and got his first look at their destination. They were parked in front of a low set of buildings, all vaguely pre-fab looking. The smell of the Thames was strong, and not too far in the distance he could see the familiar tops of the power station chimneys.

“We’re in Battersea.” He stated, a little puzzled.

“An astounding deduction, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft teased. “Ah, Captain.” A tall, muscular woman had approached. It was hard to determine colour in the relative darkness of the shadow of the building, but she was dressed in a jumpsuit of some kind, with thick boots on and carrying a full helmet.. Greg frowned, puzzlement turning to confusion. The woman halted a few paces from them and snapped off a salute.

“Everything’s set and ready to go, Sirs, if you’ll follow me.” Mycroft laced his fingers with Greg’s and followed the woman, who was walking off at a brisk pace.

“Captain? Isn’t that the same rank as John was?” Greg asked. Mycroft glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“No. She’s higher, in equivalent ranks. Captain is merely a shorter way of saying Group Captain. There are three ranks between her and the head of the armed forces.” Greg stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at Mycroft.

“She saluted you. You only salute first if they’re senior to you. Surely you aren’t going to try ad say it’s only a minor position now?” Mycroft smiled plainly at him, and tugged him back into walking again.

 

The woman was stood at parade rest, next to a sleek black helicopter. As they approached it, realisation dawned on Greg’s face. He listened, vaguely, to the safety brief, clinging to Mycroft’s hand as an anchor. They were ushered on board and passed headsets, then strapped in to seats. Mycroft shifted so that he could hold Greg’s hand as the distinctive sound of rotor blades starting filled the air. The chopper took off quickly, banking hard to the right to head towards Westminster. After a short while, Greg turned to face Mycroft.

“Are we about to watch the New Year’s fireworks from a helicopter?” He asked quietly.

“Yes.” Mycroft responded simply. Greg opened his mouth to say something else, then decided better of it; shaking his head.

“God, I love you, you know that?” Mycroft chuckled and turned to the side door as the helicopter started to hover. Unstrapping himself, he took hold of the grab-rail and shunted the door open. He returned to his seat, clearing Greg’s line-of sight out of the door. “Oh… wow.” Greg exhaled softly, eyes wise in wonder. They were hovering almost directly over the Thames; Big Ben and the House of Parliament illuminated in front of them, crowds below them starting to hush as the hands on the clock approached midnight.

“Thirty seconds to midnight. Romeo-Victor-Juliet, standby for fireworks. Over.” The faceless voice crackled over the radio.

“Roger, tower. I’ll try not to send us for a swim. Out.” Their pilot replied. Greg glanced at Mycroft for reassurance; the politician was smiling, which he took as a good sign.

**“TEN.”** Mycroft turned to Greg as the crowd counted down, reaching for his hand.

**“NINE.”** Greg took the offered hand, lacing their fingers together.

**“EIGHT.”** Mycroft dipped his head and brushed a kiss across Greg’s knuckles.

**“SEVEN.”** Greg squeezed Mycroft’s finger, a grin on his face.

**“SIX.”** Mycroft opened his mouth, saying something that was drowned by the air-flow.

**“FIVE.”** Greg frowned, cupping his ear to show that he hadn’t heard.

**“FOUR.”** Mycroft pulled his phone from his pocket and started to type.

**“THREE.”** Greg raised an eyebrow, puzzled.

**“TWO.”** Mycroft lifted the phone to allow Greg to see the screen.

**“ONE.”** Greg stared up at Mycroft, eyes wide.

**“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”** The phone was dropped back into Mycroft’s pocket, Greg kissing him deeply. It’s screen still glowed against the words.

MARRY ME?


End file.
